


Credible Threats

by ETraytin



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Death Threats, Hate Speech, Pre-episode Evidence of Things Not Seen, Prompt Fic, Racial/Ethnic slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETraytin/pseuds/ETraytin
Summary: Hate mail is nothing new in the White House, but usually it's not addressed to Donna.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, mind the warnings on this one! This is a prompt fic for Anonymous, who asked for an expansion on the story Josh tells Joe Quincy in Evidence of Things Not Seen, about the inexplicable death threat somebody sent Donna and how Josh reacted to it. 
> 
> WARNING: This story contains obscene language of the antisemitic and misogynistic variety, as well as death threats and general hate speech. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these things.

The weather was terrible that morning, a low ceiling of clouds dropping intermittent cold rain and a heavy clamminess to the air that spoke of an oncoming downpour. The cherry blossoms weren't quite blooming yet, so the skeletal branches of trees and the jutting edges of monuments did little to soften the ominous early-morning sky over Washington DC. Donna closed and shook her umbrella as she stepped into the welcome warmth of the lobby, tucking it under her arm as she quickly signed in and headed for the Operations bullpen. It wasn't yet eight o'clock, but there was already a large pile of Josh's mail waiting on her desk to be opened and sorted. Mail was delivered regularly four times a day in the West Wing, with urgent or express deliveries often showing up in-between times. Donna sometimes wondered if eventually everything would just be emailed and there'd be one delivery a day for packages, but so far the internet age had not really made much of a dent in the glut of papers.

She hung her coat in Josh's office and put her lunch in his fridge, then straightened out his desk and logged into his computer. It was much easier that way than expecting him to remember his password. Checking and noting the overnight voicemails took another few minutes, as did stopping to chat with Ginger and Bonnie about the date Ginger had been on last night. Apparently she'd had a good time and it was very promising, nearly a first for the ultra-selective senior assistant. Donna made arrangements to hear more before lunch, then headed for the press office to collect the morning papers from the large stack next to Carol's desk. The Ginger situation needed a little bit of rehashing there, with Donna agreeing that this guy had to be some kind of saint if he could meet all Ginger's exacting standards, either that or he was exceptionally attractive. Margaret dropped by to get Leo's papers and add her two cents; she was of the opinion that this mysterious suitor had probably used hypnosis or subliminal suggestion to make himself more appealing. Donna said she'd give that idea some thought and headed back to the bullpen.

By now it was five past eight and Josh wasn't in yet, but she wasn't too surprised. The rain was a steady patter now and was undoubtedly fouling up the traffic. He'd definitely be in a lousy mood when he managed to make it in. Opening the daily schedule, she made a list of his meetings for the day and finished pulling the files she hadn't already gotten last night, then placed them in a neat stack on his desk where they would remain for approximately ten seconds before becoming horrifically disordered. With all those morning chores done, Donna finally sat down at her own desk and began sorting through the mail.

There'd been a time, just after Rosslyn, where Josh's correspondence had been delivered by the tubful and Donna had needed an intern just to help her go through it each day. For about six months, it seemed like everyone in America had known his name and his mailing address. The Secret Service had stepped in to screen for awhile, keeping out the worst of the hate mail and leaving Donna to sort through get-well cards, angry screeds, preprinted prayer cards, and marriage proposals by the score. Josh hadn't had time to look at everything, so she'd thoughtfully saved the most hilarious and embarrassing ones to show him when she needed a laugh, and the cutest, most thoughtful or touching ones for when he needed a break. All in all, though, she'd been happy when then number had started to taper off. Today's batch was of a pretty normal size, enough to fill her mail bin but not overflow it.

She started with the manila envelopes from the Hill, those were redlines for current bills or notes on pending legislation, all of which would need to be reviewed and filed. Once those were done, she sorted the business and legal-sized envelopes, which could be anything from speaking invitations to appeals from individuals who wanted the White House to address specific legal issues or veto a bill coming through. Every so often there was still a piece of hate mail or a marriage proposal, but she screened them out, gave the former to the Secret Service and kept the latter for Josh-tormenting purposes. A lot of this week's mail was on the peacekeeping initiative in Kundu, though what people expected a domestic policy advisor like Josh to do about it was beyond her ken. Sometimes people just learned a name and got stuck on it, despite all reason.

Halfway down the stack, she found a white business-sized envelope addressed to her. That wasn't entirely unusual, sometimes assistants sent mail to one another, especially if one of the Congressional aides on the Hill wanted their boss and her boss to get together on something without going through usual channels. The Assistants Assistance Network ,a very clever pun she'd thought of herself, was the lifeblood of ever getting anything done in DC. The fact that it wasn't on stationery or letterhead probably meant somebody wanted something done on the down-low. That was always a little exciting.

She sliced open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet inside, unfolding it to read. The address block on the top was strange, identifying her as “Donna Moss, Senior Assistant Deputy Chief,” which suggested somebody hadn't done all their homework. The rest of the letter quickly eclipsed it.

_Dear Bitch,_   
_The Constituton of the United states is not just a peice of paper you can throw away. You and you're bleeding heart frends think you can ingore are rights and trample are liberty but you will learn the truth very soon. You are going to see an up rising that will make you wish youd stayed at home where you belong with the other bicthes and not got in the way of real men protecing are freedom. You're kike boyfrend nows what hapens to anyone who gets in are way. I am colecting up all the guns that you have band and there is a bullet with your name on it inside everyone of them. Stop killig America or I am going to kill you frist._   
_A Free Man With A Gun_

Donna scanned the letter once and then dropped it with a shiver, rubbing her fingers against her shirt as though they were physically soiled. It was hardly the first piece of hate mail she'd seen, nor the most graphic, nor the first to use disgusting language. It was, however, the first she'd gotten that was specifically addressed to her. Why would someone address hate mail to her? Who would even know who she was? Was the fact that they knew enough to know her name and that she worked with Josh enough to make this a credible threat? Her apartment had three locks on the door, but the fire escape ran right up past the bedroom, and the lock on it was tricky. It had already been broken into twice in three years, but the criminals in the past had only wanted her VCR and TV. If somebody wanted to hurt her, they could do a lot worse. She stared at the paper on her desk as though it might bite her, unable to gather her thoughts beyond the icy trickle of dread running down her spine.

It was of course at this moment that Josh chose to make his entrance.

...

The weather was utterly miserable that morning, which just put the capper on Josh's already miserable mood. He'd woken up fifteen minutes late because he'd accidentally turned the volume down on his clock radio, meaning there was no time for morning coffee. In the bathroom, he was reminded of the fact that he'd told himself to stop at the drugstore last night for shampoo because his was gone. He had not remembered that last night, and the drugstore would've been closed by the time he went home anyway. Digging deep into the back of the cabinet netted him a half-bottle of two-year-old shampoo Donna had left while she'd been taking care of him in the summer after Rosslyn. It was better than nothing, but it left him smelling distinctly of strawberries. It definitely didn't really project the manly, take-charge attitude he would've liked. He'd raced out the door and bought a coffee to go on the way to work, making him late enough to get caught in traffic on Dupont Circle. Trying to drink his coffee in the car had also proven unsuccessful, and now he'd need his emergency dress shirt as soon as he got to his office. Then, as soon as he parked, the rain had begun in earnest.

He stalked into the bullpen with water dripping from his soaked overcoat and a scowl on his face. “This entire morning exists just to spite me personally!” he announced to all and sundry, hoping to at least strike fear into a few of the greener interns. A little healthy fear was good for them. One newbie using the copy machine scampered away, which was gratifying, but Donna didn't so much as look up. That was unusual, she generally at least noticed him coming in at full volume.

Josh stopped in front of her desk, his overcoat creating a little puddle in the hallway. “I need you to start researching the engineers who designed the little slice of hell that is Dupont Circle's current traffic pattern. If even a single one of them is still alive, I want them prosecuted to the full... Donna?”

It was clear she wasn't even listening until he said her name. She jerked her eyes up to him and gave him her fake secretarial smile. “Traffic, Dupont Circle. It's bad, yes.” She tucked the paper she'd been looking at back in its envelope, shoving it off to one side while she kept talking. “Your files are on your desk, you've got Staff in twenty, then you're in the Roosevelt Room with Toby and the EPA tiger team until 9:30-”

Definitely something wrong here, Josh deduced. Normal Donna would never miss an opportunity to mock him for yelling, or for not carrying an umbrella. Normal Donna did not give him the I'm-a-secretary smile. “What's wrong with you?” he asked bluntly.

“Nothing,” she said with perfect ease, but her gaze flicked towards the paper for just a fraction of a second. She might think she was tuned to him, but the tuning went both ways. Sometimes.

With one quick motion, Josh reached down and snatched up the envelope. “A love letter?” he guessed, dancing backwards as she tried to grab it back. “No, that can't be it. Secret information about the bran muffins in the mess? Is Margaret forwarding chain emails again?”

“Josh, stop!” Donna protested, jumping up and coming around her desk to try and reclaim the letter. “It's none of your business!”

“The country is my business, Donatella!” Josh darted into his office, finally having fun for the first time all day. “And unless I miss my guess, this came in my mail, so that makes it even more my business! Your iron dictatorship over the postal service has gone on long enough, and I will seize control!” He oepned and unfolded the letter. “Unless it's another marriage proposal, and then I will set it on-” He looked down at the letter and immediately lost his train of thought.

“It wasn't your mail,” she told him flatly, walking into his office after him.

“Close the door,” he said, all trace of humor gone. “This came in with the morning's mail?”

She nodded, pushing the door shut with one hand. “No return address, but addressed to me at the White House.”

“Has anybody been giving you trouble lately?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even and matter-of-fact. Getting upset now would just scare her more. “Anybody at your apartment complex, or just walking around on the street? Have you gotten any other letters like this?”

Donna shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself. “I don't get a lot of mail here, and never anything like this. And just normal stuff otherwise, drunk neighbors pounding on the door, catcalls sometimes when I'm going home. Nothing unusual.”

“You've gotta get out of that neighborhood!” he told her, his voice rising despite his best efforts.

“Well then give me a raise!” she shot back, just as loud.

“I know how much you get paid!” he shot back. “It's not what you're worth, but it's enough that you don't have to live in such a crappy apartment! We need to find you a better place to live.”

Donna scowled at him. “Right now I think that's the least of my problems,” she pointed out.

“Not from where I'm sitting.” He waved the letter. “This thing? We get a hundred of them a week. It's like that fax with the space debris, looks scary until you think about it. Somebody found your name in a news article and decided to write you. I've probably got one just like it in that pile.”

She seemed to consider that. “You think so?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he told her, doing his best sincere face.

“So this is another also-dead thing.” Donna still didn't seem totally convinced, but willing to be talked around. “Just the fallout from hanging around important people?”

“For God's sake, can you get off the also-dead thing?” Josh insisted. “That's morbid. You're not going to be an also-dead because if you and I were ever in deadly danger together I wouldn't let you die! And nobody's going to die of this, this is some guy in a shed with a third-grade education and a copy of Newsweek he found in a bathroom!”

Now Donna's eyes were suspiciously bright, but Josh wasn't sure which of the several things he said might have set her off. “So this is nothing? I shouldn't be worried?”

“Not even a little,” he told her. “Well, not unless you get another fax about falling satellites, then you might have something to worry about...” He grinned cockily at her.

The mockery was enough to relax her, which probably said something about the general oddness of their relationship. “Okay,” she agreed, letting her arms fall to her sides. “You've got staff in fifteen.”

“Got it.” Josh pulled off his overcoat, draped it over her coat on the rack. Donna grimaced and moved it to the other side, where it wouldn't soak her coat as it dried. “I'm going to change my shirt, then run down to the Mess for some breakfast. If I'm running late to get back, tell Leo it's the weather.”

Donna glared at him. “Yeah right.”

“You could get me coffee,” he suggested instead.

She heaved a sigh. “I'll tell him something. But it shouldn't take you fifteen minutes to get to the Mess and back.”

“It won't if you stop heckling me and get to work.” She rolled her eyes and left. Josh hastily threw on his clean shirt, then tucked the letter into his suitcoat pocket and booked for the downstairs. Bypassing the Mess, he followed the tunnel-like corridor till he reached the Secret Service offices. They always creeped him out a little, cramped and underground, but maybe it kept the agents on their toes.

Ron Butterfield was in his office, studying something on his computer with his habitual frown. He looked up as Josh stopped in the doorway. “Is there a problem, Josh?” he asked.

It was abrupt, but Josh supposed that very few White House staffers came down here just to chew the fat. He pulled the envelope from his pocket. “Donna got this in the morning mail. She says nobody's been bothering her more than normal and she hasn't seen anything suspicious, but she lives in a terrible neighborhood so there's probably creepy people everywhere. I want to know what you think about it.”

Ron accepted the envelope, handling it carefully by the edges. “Who's handled this so far?”

“Well, she has, and I have, quite a bit,” he admitted. “I didn't realize what it was at first.”

The agent nodded, and pulled a pair of gloves out of his desk anyway, donning them before opening the letter again. He read it over several times. “We'll look into it,” he told Josh. “It's unlikely to be a credible threat.”

“How can you tell?” Josh insisted. “Why would somebody target Donna just because they hate the administration? Doesn't that seem awfully specific to you?” Now that he didn't have to keep Donna from being scared, his own fear was creeping to the front. The idea of Donna in someone's crosshairs, of a bullet with her name on it, was completely intolerable.

“It's a recognized tactic among certain hate groups,” Ron informed him, calm and nearly pedantic. “Sending death threats to high-profile targets in an organization brings greater scrutiny and less fear, because it's more likely that threats will be intercepted before reaching their targets. Public figures who are often threatened, such as yourself, also tend to develop a cynical attitude towards hate mail and death threats. Aiming further down the organizational ladder makes it more likely that the target will read their own mail and that the threat will be unexpected and frightening.”

“Well, they scored big on that one,” Josh muttered, his hands curling into fists. “But how do you know it's not credible?”

“We don't rate a threat as credible unless it contains identifiable personal information or a specific plan of action,” Ron explained. “The only personal information besides her name is her relationship to you, and that's the only context in which anyone in the general public would be likely to know of her. The reference to-”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Josh cut in, suddenly feeling the weight of it in his gut. “Just the fallout from hanging around important people.”

“Something like that,” Ron looked Josh up and down, seemed to be studying him for a minute. “We can have an agent screen your mail and hers for the next few weeks, see if there's a follow-up. Multiple contacts can increase the risk of an actual threat.”

“Okay,” Josh nodded “Yeah, that'd be good. Um... could you maybe keep it on the down-low? I already told her it was nothing to worry about,” he admitted.

“It's a normal security precaution,” Ron agreed. If Josh didn't know better, he might have thought the agent smiled a little bit. “She'll already be used to seeing some mail that was opened in the mailroom.”

“All right. Good. That works.” Josh rubbed his hands together. “You're sure it's not-”

“We'll look into it,” Ron promised one more time. “That's our job. But it's very unlikely that there's any real danger.”

“Okay. I gotta go, then.” Josh jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

He managed to jog back upstairs with two minutes to spare before staff, grabbing his folders and the stack of index cards Donna had made for him. “Josh,” she called. “What did you do with the letter?”

“That thing?” he asked dismissively. “I put it with all my best marriage proposals. Don't worry about it.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him. “Go do a job.”

“Yep!” He trotted off, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder once more, just to keep an eye on her.


End file.
